


Not Doomed to Repeat Them

by WithoutBringingMeDreams



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, inspired by season 5 spoilers, speculative fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:24:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithoutBringingMeDreams/pseuds/WithoutBringingMeDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunken night of fun takes several turns.</p><p>*Inspired by spoilers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Doomed to Repeat Them

 

“Fuck. Fuuuck!” Mickey sings out, arm slung around Ian as they stagger back to the Gallagher’s. “I might be drunk.” 

“Might be,” Ian agrees, laughing right along with Mickey. He has a few nicks and bruises from the little scuffle they just got into at the bar, but Mickey’s definitely worse. His knuckles are all bloody, and a trickle of red keeps appearing on the side of his face no matter how many times he swipes at it. 

It’s all right, though. Ian will fix him up as soon as they get home. Fix him up and then fuck him good. 

‘Cause he’s feeling great right now. Energized, excited. Really fucking happy. He has Mickey and everything is amazing. They can roam the whole Southside together, terrorizing any assholes who’re looking for a beating. And they’ll win. Every time. 

“Up the steps, Mick. Come on.” Ian urges him forward as they reach the porch. 

“I’m not that drunk, man, shit.” Mickey bats his arm away, but he’s still smiling— his full-on _happy_ smile, not just one of those cocky smirks. 

So Ian matches his smile and they stumble through the door, straight into a living room filled with people. 

Silence reigns abruptly, and everyone stares up at him. Fiona, Debbie, Carl, Lip—wasn’t he supposed to be headed back to college?—Kev, V, even fucking Svetlana. A trio of babies gurgles in a playpen nearby, but they too seem unusually quiet. 

Ian’s smile fades. “Uh, hey guys. Didn’t think you’d be around.” He unzips his light jacket and turns toward Fiona. “Didn’t you say you were going to V’s tonight?”

 _The house was supposed to be empty._ Empty and his—his and Mickey’s for the night.

“Yeah, I did say that. Which is kinda why I figured you’d be coming here.”

Her large brown eyes are even larger than usual. Dark circles fall like shadows underneath them, and the white parts are tinted red.

Ian takes a step back. “What’s going on?”

Fiona pats the spot by her side. “Ian, sit. You too, Mickey.”

There are pamphlets spread out on the coffee table. Pamphlets with pictures of people smiling on them. But not real smiles—not smiles like the one Mickey had for him just a few moments ago. These are plastic and fake. Posed.

“What the hell is going on?” Ian repeats. He doesn’t realize he’s stepped back again until he collides with Mickey’s chest.

“We just want to talk to you, hon,” V says.

“Please?” Debbie adds, and there’s so much sadness in her little voice that Ian wants to scream. What the hell is everyone’s problem?

“This supposed to be a fucking intervention?” Mickey speaks from behind him, and Ian whirls around. Because now Mickey has labeled it, and there’s no more room for confusion. Only anger. So much searing anger, shooting into his veins, burning through him. How dare they pry into his fucking life like this? Since when did he even matter to them?

And another thought strikes him, igniting his voice into a shout. “Did you know about this, Mickey? If you’re in on this I swear to fucking God—”

“Fuck no!” Mickey yells back, spit and a little bit of blood spraying out. “I’d never fucking go behind your back! Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ian’s mouth drops open slightly, because he can see behind Mickey’s fury, like he always can. Mickey’s hurt he could even _think_ such a thing.

Shit. He’s fucking up and he doesn’t know what to do. He just wants to run. Run out in the open, for miles and miles, and clear all this fucking chaos from his mind.

“Ian, Ian,” Fiona is saying. “Let’s just sit down and talk, okay? No one’s gonna make you do anything. But V found this great treatment program…it’s not like that hospital you went to before. It’s all homey, and they really try to help you be able to leave—”

“Leave? Leave when?” Ian barks a laugh and it’s too loud. It even hurts his own ears. “When they have me so drugged up I can’t get my dick to work? Thank you, but no. Or actually, no thank you. Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”

Lip stands. “Ian, man. Not in front of Debbie and Carl. Just hear V out, okay?”

Ian spares a glance at Debbie’s tear-filled eyes, but it’s not enough to stop the fire consuming his every cell. “Don’t fucking get near me, or I’ll knock you the fuck out.”

Lip’s sneer isn’t what he expects in response. Then again, it is Lip. “Jesus, Ian. What the hell are you gonna do? You think Mickey’s gonna be able to take care of you forever?”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Mickey growls.

Svetlana lets out a quiet snort, shaking her head.

Ian’s smirk grows to match Lip’s, because Mickey’s on his side in this, and together nothing can stop them. They already proved that earlier tonight. “Stay out of our business.”

But apparently Lip hasn’t gotten the memo, because he keeps on talking. “’Yeah, well, you keep fucking around behind Mickey’s back and even he’s gonna leave you. What then?”

There’s a flash of red and Ian lunges forward, hands outstretched to get at Lip’s stupid neck. Debbie and Fiona scream. V jumps up and places herself in front of the playpen, her arms spread wide to block them as he and Lip tumble over onto the coffee table. The pamphlets go flying.

“Stop, Ian, stop!” Debbie’s full-on bawling now. Her small hands claw at him, and probably Fiona’s, too, but they can’t stop him from punching Lip once, twice. Lip kicks him in the groin and he stumbles back.

“Everyone, let’s just calm down,” Kev says. He takes a few slow steps to get between Ian and the face Ian currently wants to tear apart.

Before Ian can move to strike again, Mickey clasps him from behind, arms fully encircling him. “Ian. Let’s go. Come on man, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Lip stands back up, still tense, hands in tight fists.

“Ian,” Mickey repeats. He pulls Ian away, gently but purposefully. “We don’t need this shit.”

That’s about the only thing that makes sense right now. That this whole… _intervention_ …is shit, and they don’t need it. They don’t need anything.

So Ian laughs again—furious, sharp laughter. Then he turns and claps Mickey on the back. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

 

\---

 

Back out in the fresh air, things begin to settle and finally, finally, the fire clears from Ian’s mind. Mickey is walking by his side and Ian finds his smile again. “Where to, Mick?” 

Mickey glances up at him, but won’t lock eyes. “I dunno, Ian. Wherever.”

There’s a tightness in his voice, something lurking beneath the careless words, and it makes Ian feel like running again. He doesn’t really want to think about it, but the past few minutes play through his head anyway. The ambush by his so-called family, with their stupid plans for him, and Lip’s big mouth…

Of fucking course. “Mickey…what Lip said…he…I mean, I didn’t…”

He’s tripping on the words because he can’t lie, but he can’t tell the truth, either. His vision darkens around the edges and guilt is trying to drown him. _No. I didn’t mean it. They were nothing to me. Don’t leave me._

Mickey stops walking and puts a hand on Ian’s chest. “Whatever, man. It’s not like I’ve always been a fucking angel.” His thumb strokes Ian softly and Mickey stares at it, almost like he’s surprised to see it moving. “If you say you wanna be with me, then I believe you.”

 _I do. I fucking do._ “Yes,” Ian breathes out. But the guilt won’t stop strangling him, and now he wants to make it up to Mickey, wants to make up for every fucking moment he let some dick-possessed part of his brain take over his body. He grabs Mickey’s hand and the thrill that shoots through him when Mickey lets him keep holding it is enough to bring back his sight, clearer and sharper than ever. “And I’m gonna show you.” He grins, yanks at Mickey, and they take off running.

 

\---

 

They’re at the baseball field, and Mickey is arched against the fence, one hand clutching at the metal and the other tangled in Ian’s hair as Ian works to suck him off. Mickey moans and Ian sucks harder, smiling, humming around Mickey’s dick. He wants to make Mickey feel good. Feel like he’s the best, because he is. And he’s all Ian needs. This time he’s sure of it.

Positive. 

“Shit. Ian. Yes,” Mickey gasps. He yanks at Ian’s hair and then shoots out, warm and salty down Ian’s throat. Ian swallows hard and keeps swallowing as the last pulses travel through Mickey’s body.

“Fuck, that was good.” Mickey grasps the collar of Ian’s jacket and pulls him up into a kiss.

Ian wraps his arms all the way around Mickey and flips them around without separating from Mickey’s lips. He’d stay there all day, if he could. Just celebrating how much Mickey gives to him these days. Mickey’s so gay he’ll kiss his own cum right off Ian’s lips. 

“And that’s just the beginning,” Ian murmurs when he finally has to stop to get some air. “I’m gonna make you feel so good tonight. Come on, big guy.”

He pushes Mickey down to the ground and straddles him, grinding on his crotch.

“Oh yeah? Who says you’re gonna be in control?” Mickey laughs and tosses him over. Soon they’re rolling again and again on the field, hips thrusting and lips clashing in laughter-filled kisses.

They finally collapse beside each other, giggling, staring up at the sky.

A firework shoots across the darkness. It’s one of those shrieking things, whistling fiercely before dying out into nothing. All bark and no bite.

Still, a grin explodes on Ian’s face. He remembers, and he’s willing to bet Mickey does, too.

“You ever think about the first time we came here? When you got out of juvie that one time?”

Mickey shifts to face him and rolls his eyes. “Maybe. Why?”

“You were so into me then. Crazy about me, really.”

Now Mickey snorts. “Whatever, firecrotch.”

A moment of doubt tries to dampen Ian’s high. “Are you still?”

“Still what?”

“Crazy about me.”

“Jesus, Ian.” Mickey groans, looking away again, but he stretches his hand out until the tips of their fingers are touching.

It’s answer enough.

Another firework screeches by, then another, then another. The brief snatches of red and orange light up Mickey’s face. Ian wants to see that smile, that _true_ Mickey smile, but instead there’s something somber tugging at Mickey’s lips.

“Mick?” he asks, letting his fingers play lightly over Mickey’s.

Mickey takes a deep, shuddering breath. His mouth opens and closes a few times and when Ian really focuses on that movement he can see the trembling.

_Shit. Shit. No, Mickey. No._

But the words come out anyway. “Ian, you need to go.”

Ian’s body stiffens, hands clenching, toes curling in his shoes. “What the fuck, Mickey. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“To that place they were saying they found. Shit, Ian. You have to fucking try.”

Ian pulls away from Mickey and sits up. The red is taking over his vision again, and this time it’s not from any fireworks. “Or what?” he spits. “You gonna do what Lip said? You gonna leave me if I don’t want to become some drugged-up drone?”

“No, asshole.” Mickey sits up, too, glaring. “That’s the fucking problem. You’re gonna keep on doing crazy shit and I’m gonna keep on letting you, because there ain’t no way I’m gonna be able to leave you. Fuck knows I’ve tried.”

Ian’s hands claw at dirt, but it’s not enough to ground him. His head is spinning, and the flashes of red just won’t stop. “What are you fucking talking about.”

Mickey won’t look at him. “Shit. I’m tryin’ to do the right thing here.”

“Oh, so pawning your boyfriend off on some quack doctors is the _right thing_ , huh?”

“Fuck you,” Mickey bites out through a clenched jaw. “You actually think that’s what I want? Then fuck you, Ian. Fuck you and your fucking bi-whatever-the-fuck.”

Ian throws up his hands. “If that’s not what you want, then why the fuck are you telling me to go?”

“Because if you don’t, we’re gonna end up like our fucking parents!”

Mickey’s eyes shoot wide at his own words. But then his face hardens, and he stares up at Ian, brows raised high and gaze locked, daring Ian to fight him on this. He’s not backing down.

“What…wh-what do you mean?” Ian can only whisper. The red is fading now, and swirls of the dark guilt are taking over.

“I mean one of us is gonna turn into a drunk, abusive asshole, and the other is gonna end up…gone.”

Mickey hesitates on that final word, almost like he wanted to use another one but caught himself at the last moment.

It doesn’t matter, because Ian hears what isn’t said.

He thinks of Monica, lying in that pool of blood on their kitchen floor. He thinks of Mickey and Mandy’s mom, a shadowy, weak, drug-addicted person one day, and _gone_ the next.

_Dead._

Ian tries to breathe and his chest contracts too quickly. His face is hot and his eyes sting. He’s going to cry soon.

But shit, he can’t. He can’t cry like this in front of Mickey. He knows Mickey has seen him cry before, while he was lying in bed, unable to fight his way out of the darkness. Somehow it’s different, now, though. Because it’s not some nameless shadow hanging over him. It’s real and it’s right there beside him. Mickey Milkovich, staring at him fiercely even though his lips are still trembling.

Because Mickey’s about to cry, too.

“I can’t turn into my dad, Ian. I can’t. Not after everything you’ve done to stop it.”

“To stop it?” Ian repeats, and something wet trickles down his cheek. “What did I do?”

Mickey doesn’t hesitate. “Loved me,” he says.

Ian balls his hands up and pushes them into his eyes, catching the tears before they can fall. A spasm passes through his body and he curls in on himself.

Mickey gathers him into a quick, tight hug. He doesn’t linger in the embrace, though, because after all, he is still _Mickey._

Somehow, the thought cheers Ian up. His lungs fill with air again.

“Shit, Ian. Don’t fucking cry. This is why I hate all that sappy shit.”

Ian lets out a watery laugh. “Fuck you,” he manages to say.

And then Mickey smiles at him. There’s some sadness haunting his blue eyes, but shit, that smile, even marred by dried blood from his damn head cut…it’s still the most beautiful thing Ian’s ever seen.

“You’re never gonna be like your dad, Mick. Never.”

Ian’s never been more sure of anything. It puts all his other so-called beliefs—in himself, in his sanity—to shame, really.

“Yeah?” Mickey asks, running a hand down Ian’s arm and ending at his fingertips.

“I promise,” Ian says, and he means it. Mickey’s been bending over backwards for him lately—giving him everything he’s asked for. And he’s taken it, greedily, because he wanted it all for so long. He felt like he was _owed_ something.

But he wants them to stop owing each other, now. He wants this instead, this sitting with Mickey on a cool summer night, holding hands. Just…being in love.

He closes his eyes. “I’ll go. If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

Mickey’s hand on his cheek makes his lids flutter open again. “I don’t, you know.” Warm air from Mickey’s breath, so close to his lips, washes over him. “I don’t want you to go…but I do.”

Ian nods, swallows away the last of the tears, and presses into Mickey’s mouth. “Yeah.” He kisses Mickey hard and deep, already thinking about how he’s going to have to savor every moment from now until… until they have to be apart.

But not forever. No way in hell.

“I know, Mick. That’s why I’m gonna do it.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed, 'cause I haven't tortured anyone into doing that for me :P


End file.
